


Goodbye, Vagabond

by Thisiswhatmylifehasbecome



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, GTA AU, I'm uh Kinda Sorry, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 04:41:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13450770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thisiswhatmylifehasbecome/pseuds/Thisiswhatmylifehasbecome
Summary: They weren't immortal, no matter how large their reputations were.





	1. Chapter 1

He took a shallow breath, in and out, in and out. The pain he felt was enough to render him still, unwilling to move. Voices floated in and out, unintelligible, barely familiar. He thought he heard shouting at one point, maybe even crying. He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. All he focused on was the pain he felt. He couldn’t tell where he was injured nor how badly. All he knew was that he wanted it to _stop_. It was as if all he had ever known was pain; what did anything else feel like? Could he even remember after this, if he lived? 

_I shouldn’t have gone alone_. Just a few hours before he was fine, happy even. He had been with the Lads, joking about something. They had probably been poking fun at Geoff s they often did though in good nature. Then in typical Ryan fashion he offered to take care of something, _alone_.

It seemed like such a simple job: Two isolated people. Armed but the targets typically were; it would be no problem to take them out. Building- small, easy to sneak in and figure out the layout. Easy in and out. With murder on the table, how could he resist? And he had taken out more people than that by himself before. There was no reason to worry, no reason to bring any backup though Michael and Jeremy tried. Of course, he hadn’t expected to be ambushed by heavily armed rival gang members. He should’ve thought about it but he was used to the information given to him being _right_. 

He killed as many as he could, which was an impressive amount. At least eight bodies littered the floor, in various states of _fucked up_. Ryan’s own was nearing the floor, having slumped against a wall. A hand was pressed to his chest where a bullet had managed to find its mark, right near his left lung. He closed his eyes, his breathing shallow as he moved to reload his gun. It would soon prove to be a worthless move; a voice yelled “ _GRENADE_ ”, and the last thing he remembered as he attempted to dive away was a bright flash of light and a very loud noise. _Maybe it was a good thing I went alone_. 

After what felt like hours he felt himself being moved, hands grabbing him from all sides. Things that had landed on top of him were thrown away or fell off of him as he was picked up from the floor. He let out a pained gasp and would’ve fallen right back over had it not been for the hands keeping him upright, their grip firm. There was a loud ringing in his ears- surely, his eardrums were burst- yet he managed to hear, faintly, “Yeah, we’ve got him boss. It- it doesn’t look good. We’re bringing him out now. Get Jack to call ahead- it might be our only chance of keeping him alive.” The person on his right hung up, shifting Ryan as gently as he could. “Hey Rye, it’s us. We’ve got you now, okay? You’re going to be okay. Just hang on.” Ryan nodded slightly, spitting out blood as he opened his mouth to speak. 

“Jeremy?” He managed, lifting his head as much as he could to look at the man. Everything in him was screaming but he wanted to make sure it was really Jeremy. That they had really come for him, despite the rest of the building surely being destroyed, no hope of finding a survivor. 

The Bostonian gave the merc a small, strained smile. “Yeah Rye, it’s me. Michael’s here too. The rest of us are waiting outside in the van. I’m sorry it took so long for us to get here.”

“It’s okay. Do… do we know who gave Geoff the wrong information?”

“We do and they’ve already been dealt with, buddy. You just worry about staying alive, okay?”

“I’ll try.” _No promises_.


	2. Chapter 2

“Ryan! You hang on, you here me? We’re almost there, you just keep breathing!” Geoff’s voice sounded so far away, yet he couldn’t have been more than half a foot away from him. His boss turned his head, shouting at the driver. “Jack can’t you drive any fucking faster?!”

“I’m trying!” The Crew’s second-in-command shouted back, fear and frustration evident in her voice. Ryan wanted to call out to them so badly, to let them know it was okay. It was his time to go after long last. Years of being shot at, being stabbed, tortured, _broken_ all led to this final moment. He wanted to tell them he loved them, that he would be forever grateful for the love they had given him over the years.

Yet he couldn’t even open his eyes anymore, too weak and tired to do so. Ryan didn’t even feel the pain anymore, which was a _very_ bad sign but he was okay with it. He knew he was surrounded by the ones he loved most and while he’ll miss them, he was going to go eventually. That was just how it was in this life; here one day, gone the next. _Just like when Ray died_. It was a cruel part of this lifestyle, having to say goodbye without warning. And with as much death as they saw, it never hurt any less. Especially when it came to those you truly care about.

Ryan took his last breath in the arms of Geoff, Michael and Gavin right next to him. Not even two minutes later did Jack pull into the driveway of the hospital they trusted, their crew of doctors already waiting for them. Despite all of their efforts they couldn’t restart the Vagabond’s heart, the trauma dealt to his body much too great. The official causes of death was internal bleeding and blood loss. 

There was a private funeral a few days later for a man named James Ryan Haywood. No one in Los Santos had heard the name before but when a man is being buried you don’t question why you don’t know him. You let his loved ones mourn him in peace and God help anyone who dared try to disrupt that, especially when it came to the Fakes. 

The grave was always well tended to, shining brightly even in the dead of winter. Even after a year had passed, then two, then three. Fresh flowers were always on the grave- roses, mainly, with a couple other types on occasion. More often than not you would spot a figure or two, maybe more, standing in front of the grave, heads bowed, voices soft. You might just wonder as you passed by what made this person so special, so _loved_ enough that people would care enough to tend to the grave as if was just yesterday the man gave up his last breath. The last thing on your mind would be that he was a criminal, and not just any. After James Ryan Haywood died the Vagabond disappeared, leaving behind no trace. Some made the connection and those who admired his work would often stop by as well, paying their respects. Others celebrated, fucking elated that they no longer had that nightmare to deal with. Others still came up with rumours of why he disappeared, that he was still alive somewhere else.

The Fakes, on the other hand, mourned the loss of their friend, teammate, and lover. The city held its breath in the months that followed the Vagabond’s disappearance, fearful of what may rain down upon them. But there was nothing. Just silence. For two whole months no one heard anything about the Fakes; it was as if they had up and left as well. Then on one fateful day they came back, bringing hell with them. Those who ever dared try to oppose them were mowed down, no mercy shown. The regained their rightful place at the top of the criminal empire but at a terrible cost. One they never truly recovered from.


	3. Secret | Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look at a potential WIP or just another part to this. :^)

A man stood at the grave of one James Ryan Haywood, his long, dirty blonde hair in a ponytail. He made no noise as he stared down at the grave, his expression empty. It was five years to the day the man buried beneath him had died. To an outsider, it would just look like someone had come to pay their respects. Perhaps it was a long lost relative, finally able to make their way down to properly say goodbye. After all, this man had never been seen before in Lost Santos. With his long hair, scholarly looking glasses, and black peacoat he looked as if he belonged at a university teaching a class. He smiled at that thought, albeit a little sadly. It had been a long time since anyone had seen his face; there was only the slightest of chances he'd be recognized. He had made sure of that. 

Part of him hoped they would recognize him. He hadn't changed _too_ much; grew a beard, dyed his hair a different colour, dressed differently. The give away would be his eyes which he had kept the same for this exact reason. When- or if- they recognized him he would have a lot of explaining to do- if they didn't immediately turn him away or kill him, that is.

 _Welcome home_.


End file.
